


Almost

by kronette



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Back to Earth, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-14
Updated: 2012-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 02:07:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a glance to Lister's still sleeping form, Rimmer opened his wardrobe to block Lister's view and opened the envelope. He nearly dropped the note as his face flushed dark red. It wasn't the same as the others; this was more verbose and definitely more explicit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't figure out where this came from, but it must have been from watching _Back to the Future_. Something must have short-circuited in my brain to come up with this out of that. This bears absolutely no relation to the movie whatsoever, honestly; just a single image that drove me to write the story.

Arnold stole back into his quarters, managing to avoid meeting anyone in the corridors along the way. No small feat, considering the ship had over 1,000 people on board.

He kept telling himself he shouldn't get excited; that it was all a game or a set up for a nasty prank against him, but he couldn't stop his heart from beating a little bit faster as he opened the small envelope he'd found in his locker. It was the sixth such note he'd received in the past week, and he noticed absently that this one was unsigned as well. So far, they'd only had two words printed on each:

You're adorable.

You're smart.

You're handsome.

You're funny.

You're charming.

His face grew hot as he read the latest note, "You're sexy." No one had ever said things like that to him in his entire life. He'd been talked down to, belittled, ignored and left to his own devices to raise himself from the age of 14. That left no time or self-confidence to consider asking someone out on a date. He'd barely noticed puberty occurring, except for the morning wood. While other teens played Spin the Bottle or whatever kissing games consisted of, he'd been off revising for his engineering exams.

So now, at age 29, someone was finally taking notice of him, but who? Who the smeg was sending these to him? If it was for an elaborate prank, they were going above and beyond to make him believe this was from some secret admirer. The thought that it _was_ just a prank sat like a stone in his stomach. No one could be that cruel, could they? Not even Lister's friends would stoop so low.

He studied the envelope a third time, but it had no identifying marks other than _Arnold_ _Rimmer, Second Technician_ typed on the outside. There was no mistaking that it was for him, so it wasn't accidentally put in his locker.

He heard Lister's drunken voice singing in no-part harmony with Petersen and Chen as they returned from spending their paycheck. In a panic, he raced over to his underwear drawer and tucked the newest note in with the others, between his Monday and Tuesday shorts. Lister would never, ever peek in there, seeing as he wouldn't even open his own underwear drawer.

Arnold quickly sat down at his desk and clicked on the lamp, pretending to be revising. Not a second too soon, as Lister's, "Night, 'Sen. Night Chen," set the trio off on drunken laughter just outside their quarters.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. It was going to be a long night, made even longer wondering if he'd get another note the next day.

=-=-=-=

Despite Lister's snorts throughout the night, Arnold managed a decent night's sleep and headed straight for his locker upon getting dressed. It was Saturday, his traditional day off, so instead of his proper uniform, he was in casual black trousers and a dark blue button-down shirt.

He glanced around the area by his locker, but no one seemed to be staring or waiting for him. No one paid him any attention at all, really, so with only slightly trembling hands, he input his code and opened the door. A familiar cream-colored envelope balanced precariously on top of his jar of General George S. Patton's sinal fluid. He retrieved the envelope faster than a cobra's strike, lest it vanish into thin air or it was spotted by someone who would try to take it from him. He slid it into his trouser pocket and kept his hand there as he walked back to his quarters, feeling sweat break out on his forehead any time someone walked past him. He was so sure it was a joke, that the fun would come when someone snatched it out of his hand, proclaimed to all that Arnold had a secret admirer, and read it aloud to the gathered crowd.

He was surprised when he made it back to his quarters without incident. With a glance to Lister's still sleeping form, he opened his wardrobe to block Lister's view and opened the envelope. He nearly dropped the note as his face flushed dark red. It wasn't the same as the others; this was more verbose and definitely more explicit.

"In case I haven't been clear: I want you, Arnold. I want to lick the scar on the side of your neck until you whimper. I want to run my hands over your naked chest. I want to squeeze that perfect arse as you pound into me mercilessly. I want you to sate your lust in me, just as I want to sate my lust in you."

He screwed his eyes shut and panted quietly as images flooded his mind. He didn't know where they were coming from, as he'd never actually done any of them, but there they were all the same, and he _wanted_. Oh, he _wanted_ to lick and squeeze and pound. He wanted to _be_ licked and squeezed and pounded. But he realized the letter wasn't done. There were still more words to be read. More words that may lead him to discover who was writing them. And now he needed to know; it was the driving force of his heart.

"I've watched you from afar since they day I came on board, hoping that you'd notice me. I didn't dare approach you, for how do you approach Adonis? What can a mere mortal say in the face of such godly beauty? I've waited patiently for three years, Arnold, but I can't wait any longer for you to notice me. I had to take the initiative. I hope you don't think me too forward. I'm not one to gush or show affection. In fact, this is as close to a love letter as I've ever written. This is as close to love as I've ever been."

The words were blurring. He blinked and the words cleared as the built-up tears fell. He wiped them away and tried to steady his shaky hand. "I know it will be odd to meet under these circumstances, knowing what you do about how I feel about you, but I must see you. I must learn if you think of me at all, or if you think of me the same. I'll be in the mess hall tonight at 19:45, wearing a shirt that matches the color of your eyes. If you show, I'll approach you and ask you to dance. If you don't show, I'll know I've thought out of turn, and I'll never bother you again."

It still wasn't signed, to his eternal frustration. Someone was out there on the ship, right that very instant, in love with him, and he didn't know who it was! He glanced at the clock – it was only 9:10. He had to get through the entire day without getting hurt, without getting into trouble, without _anything_ happening to jeopardize his chance of meeting this mystery person.

He did have a clue to go on, though. Whoever it was, they'd been on board only three years. He closed his eyes and thought back three years; where had they stopped? Europa, Callisto…Titan. They'd stopped at Titan to pick up new recruits about three years ago.

Lister snorted and rolled over, startling him out of his thoughts. He couldn't risk checking the ship's logs to find out a name. If he typed in the wrong code, he'd get caught and at best, he'd be tossed in the brig but he would definitely lose his one chance to learn who was in love with him. Since it was his day off, he didn't have anywhere to report to. He could hole up in his quarters and wait out the day until 19:30 or so. He could easily do that; he'd done it most weekends since joining _Red Dwarf_. Heartened by the thought that he might not have to spend his weekends alone any more, he happily sat down and began his astro navigation revision.

=-=-=-=-=

His leg was jiggling non-stop. It was just past 18:00 and Lister had left to meet up with Petersen and Selby for a game of pool. After bugging the smeg out of him most of the afternoon, testing Arnold's patience, Lister had finally declared him, an "utter goited smeghead," and left him to his, "pathetic existence."

Well, his, "pathetic existence," was more than happy that Lister was out of his hair, as he could spend a bit of time getting ready to meet his mystery admirer. He spent a goodly amount of time cleaning his already clean body, taking extra care that his finger and toe nails were spotless and regulation length. He agonized over his hair for twenty solid minutes, lamenting its unruly nature and dull color. Not even the extra-strength gel he'd splurged on tamed it down to lay flat against his head, despite the shorter-than-regulation-length cut. As he only had three casual outfits on board, it was matter of the black or gray trousers, and the blue, green or white shirt. He didn't really give a toss about fashion, so he chose the green shirt with black trousers and slipped on his boots.

As he examined himself in the mirror, he noticed the time. Nearly 19:30, time to head down to the mess hall. He knew which lifts were fastest, so he chose the closest one to his quarters and watched the floors tick by impatiently. As he stepped onto the floor with the mess hall, he heard laughter and froze.

The fear he hadn't let himself think of all day returned with a vengeance. What if he was about to step into the ultimate of prank reveals? What if it had all been a cruel joke and he was about to be humiliated in front of half the crew?

He could see the flashing disco lights from the mess; there was a party of some kind going on. He could just make out a banner, "Retrograde 1980s Night." Lister hadn't said anything about a party that night.

He stayed rooted to the spot, torn on what to do. If he went in and it had all been a joke, he would be the laughing stock of the ship for the rest of his life and possibly beyond. If it wasn't a joke and he didn't go in, he was giving up on a chance at happiness, on a chance at love. If it was a joke and he didn't go in, he'd be safe.

He almost turned and pressed the call button on the lift when a voice in his head stopped him. It was his younger self, the tired, heartbroken lad who had to divorce his parents in order to think for himself. "Arnie, if you don't go in there now, I'll never forgive you. You gave up everything to get away from the lovelessness of your childhood. This is your chance to get it back. If you don't take the risk, you'll spend the rest of your life in agony, wondering if you lost your one chance at love. If they laugh, so what? You've survived worse. Look at Howard."

He couldn't deny it; Howard had been especially ruthless in his pursuit of making young Arnold's life a living hell. In the end, Arnold had been the strong one, because he was the one to walk away from his family. He straightened and turned back to the mess hall. He could be strong enough to walk through that door.

With heart thudding in his chest, he swallowed a lump in his throat and stepped inside the mess, where the noise was at bleeding-ear level. The flashing colored lights made identification of shirt color, green or otherwise, impossible. He walked further into the mess, eyes sweeping the crowd looking for anyone who looked…anticipatory. He wasn't quite sure what to look for, actually. Since he hadn't been accosted by Lister or any of his accomplices, his hopes began to rise. Maybe it wasn't a joke after all.

A tap on his arm startled him badly and he looked down into the darkest eyes he'd ever seen. The flashing lights danced in their depths, mesmerizing him. Recognition triggered in the back of his mind, a face always in the crowd, always at the back of the room, always focused on him. It was then he noticed the piece of paper in the man's extended hand. A shy smile curved the full lips as the envelope was nudged at him again.

With trembling fingers, Arnold took the envelope and slid out the note card. He stared down at the typed question, then glanced up at his mystery admirer, who looked both eager and ready to pass out. "It would be an honor," Arnold stated over the noise, quickly swiping his sweaty palm on his pant leg before holding out his hand.

The smile faded somewhat on his admirer's cherub face as he wiped his own hand on his pants, then grasped Arnold's hand with the slightly damp palm. "Sorry," he said with a thick Titan accent. "I'm really nervous."

The sincerity was palpable, even over the din and Arnold felt most of his nervousness melt away. He smiled in understanding and gave the other man's hand a little squeeze. "It's okay. I'm nervous, too." He felt his cheeks hurt as his smile broadened. "I'm Arnold, by the way."

His admirer tilted his head up the slightest bit, as he was half a head shorter than Arnold, and Arnold fell again into his gaze. His eyes were brown, a dark chocolate brown and brimming with excitement and nerves. "Charles Corey."

_Corey._ The name rolled around in Arnold's head as he was led to the dance floor, where the wild strobe lights had been replaced by a single disco ball shining its light over the dancers. Arnold could recall little about the 1980s and right then didn't care to, as the only thing he could focus on was Charles' hands at his waist and the heat burnishing his cheeks. He wasn't sure where to put his hands, so settled them on Charles' shoulders as an achingly slow song was piped through the tinny speakers. They did little more than sway, which was fine with Arnold, who had terminal two-left-feet disease. It gave him time to think.

_Corey._ With a start, he realized he'd actually been there when Corey had come on board. A fight had nearly broken out as the shuttle from Titan docked with _Red Dwarf_. Three of the new crew were blind drunk from a going-away party and took offense at the quiet man trying to slide past them. Corey had ducked behind him as Arnold ducked around the corner, avoiding the security detail that had arrived to restore order. The ruffians were tossed in the brig to sleep it off, and Arnold had directed Corey to his reporting officer. Arnold had only been in the landing bay to repair Customs' vending machine. It was sheer dumb luck that he'd stumbled onto the fight and into Corey.

"I remember you," he exclaimed quietly, causing Charles to jump. "I was sent to repair the vending machine and a fight nearly broke out. I directed you to Todhunter."

Even in the semi-darkness, Arnold could see Charles' blinding smile. "Yeah. You were the first person who was nice to me."

His eyebrows rose in surprise. "On the ship?" It wouldn't surprise him; new recruits were hazed even though it was outlawed.

Charles ducked his head and he had to strain to hear the unbelievable answer: "Ever."

Arnold felt a familiar ache in his chest. Maybe it wasn't so strange that they'd met in the landing bay. He licked his lips and studied the top of Charles' curly head. This man had taken a single act of kindness and turned it into love. For anyone else, that might have seemed absurd, but for Arnold, who knew little love in his life, it was a moving gesture.

He wanted to show Charles how much his words meant to him. He wanted to show Charles that he'd looked forward to his notes every day. He wanted to show Charles what they made him feel. He wanted…

Heart pounding wildly in his chest, he tucked his finger under Charles' chin and pushed gently up until Charles was looking at him. He swallowed thickly at the naked trust gleaming at him. He only hoped he was worthy of that trust as he leaned down and pressed his lips to Charles'. It wasn't a heated or even a spectacular kiss, but it conveyed his feelings of sorrow, apology and acceptance, with a touch of eagerness for what was to come.

He felt Charles' arms slide around his waist to pull him closer and he went willingly, curling his arms around Charles' shoulders. Their mouths met in another kiss, this one more confident, all trace of sorrow gone as lust sparked deep in Arnold's gut. The body beneath the green shirt felt solid, not overly muscled but well-toned. Arnold didn't know that was a turn on, until he'd felt the muscles shift beneath his hand as he traced down Charles' spine.

They bumped noses and Charles whuffed out a laugh. "Sorry," he murmured.

Arnold caressed the smooth cheek and shook his head. "Not a problem," he replied quietly as he leaned down for another kiss. This time, Charles sucked on his lower lip, sending Arnold into orbit around a star. His skin was unbearably hot as he flicked out his tongue, sliding against Charles' already waiting for him. Each touch was firing a bolt of need straight to his penis, which was growing rapidly under the dual assault of lips and hands.

Arnold groaned as Charles' hand rubbed over his left arsecheek and his hips jerked of their own accord, spurring Charles to moan into his mouth. It was almost obscene, what they were doing in the middle of the dance floor, but for once in his life, Arnold didn't care who stared at him. He didn't care if he was the talk of the room. There was a man in his arms doing incredible things with his tongue, and he, in turn, was doing incredible things with his hands, like cupping Charles' arse and hauling him up tight against his erection.

"We need to leave," he panted as they broke for air. "You promised me…"

"Yeah," Charles breathed as he licked at Arnold's lip. "Yeah. My room's closer."

Arnold distantly heard wolf whistles as he and Charles left the mess, unable to keep their hands off each other. They only remembered to press the lift call button when Arnold was accidentally backed into it by an affectionate shove by Charles. All was forgiven, as Charles had shoved him against the vertical surface to run his hand up Arnold's chest, pausing to press his palm against his nipple.

Arnold's head was in a whirl, so caught up in new feelings of wonder, excitement, lust and terror. Neither of them really knew what they were doing, so it was a fumble of hands once they got back to Charles' room that was over much too quickly. Luckily for him, Arnold discovered he had an amazing recovery period of a few minutes and proceeded to test out his new-found confidence by making Charles scream his name.

=-=-=-=-=

"Rimmer?"

Arnold hummed and rubbed his nose against the neck his face was pressed against. "Don't call me that," he rumbled playfully as he splayed his hand over Charles' chest and slowly pulled the other man back against his front. His half-hearted erection rested between Charles' arsecheeks and he thrust lazily, loving the feel even through their boxers. They hadn't gotten to _that_ level of intimacy the night before, but he could see it happening in the upcoming weeks. As they got to know each other better. As they fell in love properly. He hummed again, this time nipping at the flesh beneath his mouth. "What happened to 'Arnie'? Or 'Tiger'?"

He rose up enough to roll Charles onto his back, covering his body and his mouth as he settled over his new lover. He didn't even mind the stale taste of their morning breath, just kept licking until the taste he came to identify as Charles reasserted itself. A whimper caught in Charles' throat sent a tingle of anticipation throughout Arnold. He'd done that! He'd caused that! And as Charles' body awoke to his, he marveled that he'd caused that reaction, too.

Suddenly they switched positions, Charles rolling him over and straddling him, delving deeply into his mouth and stealing the breath from him. He was aggressive, more aggressive than he'd been the night before and Arnold felt a rush of fear, then Charles gave a long, slow hip roll that used his entire body. Arnold's eyes rolled to the back of his head as he lay like a limp fish – limp in every way but the most important – and let Charles continue the sensuous movement until they were both gasping. Arnold watched as a drop of sweat tracked down Charles' nose to hover at the tip. He leaned up and licked it off, causing a strangled sound to emanate from somewhere deep in Charles' chest, then warmth flooded between them.

Before Arnold could even draw a breath, Charles' hand was on his erection through their soggy boxers and stroked him to completion. He could only make choked sounds as he rode his orgasm out, his vision narrowing to the dark eyes flecked with green that stared down at him with such love.

Charles bent down to kiss him again, the aggression only startling Arnold this time. He quickly adjusted and gave as good as he got, nipping and sucking and digging his fingers into Charles' shoulders as he tried to pull him closer.

Only Charles pulled back, muttering, "No, no, this isn't right."

Confusion and his old, familiar friend fear caused Arnold's voice to rise a notch higher than he'd like. "What isn't? You don't – you can't mean us," he pleaded. No, not when he was feeling so good. Not when he was happy for the first time in his life. Not after waking up in the arms of someone he could love.

"Rimmer," Charles said his name again with a sigh, and abject terror sped through every iota of Arnold's being.

"Don't call me that," he hissed, his heart now racing in fear rather than lust. "Everyone calls me that, but _you_ called me Arnie." He pushed out from under Charles and sat up, wanting desperately to cross his arms protectively over his chest but refused to give the other man the satisfaction.

Charles looked down at the bed, letting out a breath of frustration. "It isn't as simple as that."

"It _is_ that simple," Arnold snapped, now well and truly panicking. "You claimed to love me. Was that a lie? Was this whole thing a lie?" The truth sank like a stone in his gut. "This was part of the joke, wasn’t it? Get me in bed, make me love you, then toss it in my face at breakfast in front of everyone," he recited dully. 

Charles met his gaze then, shock and hurt darkening his eyes to almost black. The tiniest bit of hope sparked amidst the sea of disappointment in Arnold's heart. "That's not it at all, Rimmer. I don't know how to explain this to you. Don't I look familiar to you? Don't I look like someone?"

His brow wrinkled in confusion. "You're Charles Corey. Science officer third class if I'm not mistaken."

Charles sighed and wiped a hand over his face. The move triggered something in Arnold, something he didn't want to remember. He shied away from that something and concentrated on Charles' forlorn expression.

"There's no way to tell you this without hurting you, Rimmer, and I'm sorry that it has to be done."

"Then don't," Arnold pleaded as he tried to press himself further against the wall. "I don't want to be hurt, not by you. Not by anyone ever again." He felt a tear slip down his cheek and cursed his wayward mind, which was concocting wild scenarios on what was about to happen. "Let me have this, please."

Charles shook his head sadly. He reached up and Arnold shied further away from his touch, but he had nowhere else to go. He flinched as Charles' hand touched his cheek, wiping away the tear. His rough voice related, "Years ago, we discovered a ship at the bottom of an ocean world. A despair squid nearly caused us to commit group suicide, but Holly got us out of it."

Memories started to come back to Arnold, but he shook his head in denial. He had to hold onto Charles as he was and ignore what his eyes were trying to show him.

But it didn't matter what he saw, as Charles continued in his quiet, apologetic voice. "The water supply's been getting worse on the ship the past few weeks, and Cat finally admitted that he'd taken a baby squid from that ocean planet and kept it in our water tank, where it grew over the years."

Arnold felt another tear slip down his cheek as Charles' neat hair grew down his back in familiar dreadlocks. He finally allowed himself to wrap his arms around his chest like he'd wanted to do, in a last ditch effort to protect himself from the truth.

Yet still Charles kept talking. "We were all hit with its ink, only instead of despair, this was a female squid who defended herself by hitting us with happiness. I'm sorry, Rimmer, I really am, but this is a hallucination. There is no Charles Corey."

He struggled to hold back the choked sob and failed, lifting his head as he unleashed the cruelty of the universe in a desperate, screamed, "No!"

When he opened his eyes, he was back in their bunk room on _Red Dwarf_ , Lister in the same spot on his bunk. Chest heaving, he fixed accusatory eyes on Lister. "He loved me. _You_ loved me. You can't have done what we did without loving me!" Through his anger and tears, he could see the hesitation on Lister's face. "You do, don't you?" he whispered, amazed. "You felt something, too. This wasn't just about me, was it? _Was it_?" He found himself gripping Lister's shoulders and shaking the other man, demanding the truth.

"I don't know!" Lister admitted and extracted himself from Arnold's touch. He scooted to the other end of the bunk, sitting opposite of Arnold. "It wasn't really me, but it was, in a way. It was how you wished I'd be."

Arnold couldn't stop staring at Lister, trying to find Charles. The smooth cheek, the cherub face, the shy smile. None of it was real, yet it was. It _was_.

"Stop staring at me and wishing I was him," Lister demanded gruffly.

"Oh, excuse me for wanting to find a trace of the man I made love to not ten minutes ago," Arnold sneered, then realized what he said. Wide-eyed, he met Lister's equally surprised gaze. "That is what we did, isn't it?" he asked quietly.

Lister dropped his gaze to the bed and plucked at a blanket. "I don't know. It was what you wanted."

Arnold knew he might be grasping at straws, but he had nothing to lose. Absolutely nothing. "But I couldn’t have forced you do anything you didn't want to do," he prodded. "You had to want it, too, even if it was subconscious."

"I don't know," Lister repeated, but it was half-hearted. Arnold held his breath as Lister looked up at him, confusion shining from his dark eyes.

On impulse, Arnold leaned forward and grasped Lister's head, pouring everything he was and everything he felt into a kiss. When Lister tentatively responded, his heart lightened. When Lister's arms came around his shoulders not to shove him away, but to pull him closer, he felt close to bursting.

Gasping for air, he rested his forehead against Lister's and begged, "I don't need you to say you love me. I just need to know there's a chance, no matter how minute, that you might feel more than friendship for me."

He reveled in the feel of Lister's hand stroking along his back, so almost missed Lister's whispered, "I promise I don't hate you."

He managed an intake of breath before his mouth was taken up in another kiss and he promptly forgot what it was he wanted to say. It wasn't as important as Lister guiding him to lie on the bed, where he was happy to note that Lister's recovery time was much quicker than Charles' had been.

"Dave," he groaned tentatively, testing out the new name as Lister sucked a mark onto his neck.

"Yeah, Arn?" Lister muttered into his skin.

His fingers dug into Lister's shoulders to pull him up for another kiss. That was all the answer he needed.

The End


End file.
